Beau was a shy, surprising little sexpot.
Ugh. I was such a perverted asshole.
“Okay, let’s, um…do you have bandages?” he asked. “And any kind of salve or ointment?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe? I have a little first aid kit in the bathroom, but I’m not sure what’s in there, to be honest. It’s under the counter.”
Beau nodded. “Okay. If you don’t have any ointment, I’ll run out and get some later. You don’t need it right now, you just need a bandage. O-or you could just hold a wet cloth on it. But—I’ll see if you have some bandages or gauze.”
“Okay.” I watched him run to the bathroom, clutching my robe around me even tighter. He reappeared moments later, holding a small white box.
“Is this it?”
“Yep, that’s the one,” I replied with a smile.
His eyes darted to mine, then away. “Okay. I’m gonna—.” Hecleared his throat, brought it over to me, and set it on the counter.
He was shaking as he flipped open the top and rifled through it, the poor thing. His fingers trembled as he sifted through bandaids and wipes.
I gently put my hand on his forearm, feeling the slight tremors ripple through him. “Are you okay?”
He jolted, then laughed nervously. “Yeah, sorry, just a little tired.” He shifted his body away from mine, and I took the hint. I let my hand fall from his arm and moved a little to the left to give him more space.
He was obviously uncomfortable. I didn’t know why—my robe?—but I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. Wanted him to know he didn’t need to be. Should I just ask him why?
I opened my mouth, about to ask, but when I saw his lips moving as he sorted through the items in the kit, I stayed quiet and let him focus.
I could still watch him, though.
I lowered my head like I was studying my hand, then peered at him sidelong through my lashes. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t seem to notice me staring.
I honestly wasn’t sure what it was about Beau that evoked this constant urge to look at him. He had this air about him, a confidence and self-reliance that were woven into the way he moved with an assuredness that belied his incredibly timid demeanor.
Maybe it was the contradiction?
Or the shy glances?
Or maybe I was just really into freckles and hadn’t known that until him?
There were times when he seemed hyperaware of himself, and then others where he was so focused on whatever was happening externally that he completely forgot he was shy at all.
I was beginning to look forward to those moments when he forgot. I thought I might be witnessing something he rarely let anyone see.
Were all extroverts like this? Did we all love getting introverts to lower their walls for us?
The first brush of Beau’s fingers on my wrist had me sucking in a sharp breath when it felt like something electric danced up my arm.
He shut off the water, and I wanted to turn it right back on because the pain had instantly returned. But then his hand was beneath mine again, palm to palm, and that was so much more distracting.
So much better.
“Here,” he said softly. “I’ll dab it dry, then cover it with this. Is that okay?”
It took me a long moment to drag my eyes off his face and look at the roll of gauze he was holding up. When I glanced down at the burn, I realized why he’d chosen the gauze. It wasn’t a bad burn, but it encompassed my thumb, forefinger, and half of the back of my hand, and a bandage wouldn’t be able to cover all that.
“Yeah. It’s fine. How do you know how to do all this?”
He shrugged, his cheeks pink as he gently rolled the gauze around my hand. “I just read about it somewhere.”